


Seether

by VivaRocksteady



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Grudging friendship, Horses, Jealous Agron, M/M, jealous Nasir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivaRocksteady/pseuds/VivaRocksteady
Summary: Crixus will always be grateful to Nasir for his part in saving Naevia. At every opportunity, he goes out of his way to show the little man affection.He doesn’t do it to raise Agron’s ire. That’s just gravy.





	Seether

It started with jewelry. 

Crixus returned from a raiding party one day with a number of shiny pieces taken from a wealthy Roman woman. As with all spoils, Spartacus assessed them first. Gold or jewels that could be bartered for coin without drawing suspicion were set aside for such. Any metals that could be melted and reused for their survival were taken to those among them knowledgeable of such things. 

The other pieces, too pretty to be practical and too flashy to be bartered safely, were left to those who had found them.

So Crixus returned to the temple with two delicate gold and emerald pieces. He found his heart with Agron’s boy, sharing friendly gossip as they fletched new arrows for their small but growing ranks of archers. They smiled when he approached.

“You were successful?” Naevia asked. 

“Very,” Crixus grunted. He bent down and kissed her face. He revealed the jewels in his hand, and revelled in Naevia’s soft smile. “For my heart,” he said as he draped jewels about her neck. Her eyes softened with love as he closed the clasp. 

Crixus then turned to Nasir. “For my heart’s protector.” Before Nasir could get a good look, Crixus draped a similar piece about the little man’s neck. 

Nasir’s breath left him as he looked down at the gift. Crixus did not treat him as a woman. This piece had been taken from the soft-handed Roman man accompanying the lady. Crixus knew not, and cared not, if he was her husband or someone else. It was a _fascinus_ , a gold-flaked and bejewelled phallus, signifying a man of great importance, designed to keep evil from him. Crixus knew enough of the Roman ways to understand that much, and gave gift accordingly. 

“Crixus, this is too generous,” Nasir spoke. 

Crixus took the boy’s chin and raised his head so he could examine how jewel sat upon him. “It is nothing,” he said, then released Nasir with a ruffle of the boy’s hair. He turned and gathered his laughing heart in arms, peppered her with kisses. 

Crixus did not miss Agron standing on the steps opposite them, arms crossed, scowling, shoulders almost shaking with anger as his boy admired his gift. 

Agron’s barely held fury was almost as good as the tender look of gratitude that Naevia gave for favouring her friend.

—

“What the cold hell is this?!” Agron demanded, grasping the _fascinus_ as Nasir settled down next to him later that evening.

Nasir pushed jealous hands away with practiced ease. “It is a gift,” he said. 

“From whom?”

Nasir rolled large, dark eyes. “You know _from whom_. I saw you watching us.” 

Agron seethed. He did this often, sitting motionless, teeth slightly bared, as anger gathered within, like a river rising in a heavy storm. It was the first of two steps towards a climax that Saxa told Nasir was called _berserker rage_. The second step was to kill every nearby Roman in an uncontrollable burst of violence. 

It was a short process.

Nasir rather liked the first step, the pre-berserker seething, because Agron’s eyes were so bright and passionate, and Nasir knew the berserker rage would never be inflicted on himself or their allies. When Agron picked fights in the camp, he fought with a different sort of fury.

Also, the pre-berserker sex was phenomenal. So was the post-berserker sex, come to think of it. 

“Why is he giving you gifts at all?” Agron snarled. 

“Because he is grateful about Naevia. You _know_ this, Agron.” 

“I have told him regret about my deceit!” Agron hadn’t, really, but he’d half tried. He was sure Crixus _knew_ , now that it was apparent to all that Agron had found his heart, that he was not proud of delaying the rescue of Crixus’. 

“I do not believe he holds anger,” Nasir said. “But that doesn’t mean he is not grateful to me.” 

“Take it off. I’ll not have you wear another man’s mark, especially not that fucking Gaul’s.”

It was Nasir’s turn to glower, a dark, deadly thing that could almost rival Agron’s berserker seething. “Are you my fucking Dominus now, to decide whose _mark_ I bear?”

“No, Nasir, I—”

“I’ll accept gifts from whoever the fuck I want. If Crixus sees fit to give me silk robes in which to lounge about half naked, and it was pleasing to _me_ to do so, I’d fucking wear them whenever I wished, and Pluto can take you or anyone who looks askance!”

Nasir stood to leave, and Agron grabbed him about the waist, pushing his face into his little man’s chest. “Yes, of course, Nasir, apologies!” He groaned into beloved body until he felt hands in his hair. “I only… if he makes any move to wrest you from my arms, I will fucking kill him, even if it brings the wrath of Spartacus, or of you!”

“I know,” Nasir sighed indulgently. He settled back down on their furs and let Agron wrap arms around him. “But I truly do not believe he is interested in me. Naevia is his heart, and only Naevia.” He cast meaningful look at Agron. “And most importantly, _I_ and not interested in _him_.”

“Then why do you accept his jewelry?” Nasir would be offended by question if Agron did not look so nakedly frightened. 

“Because it is a gift between brothers and warriors,” he said. “It is a gift between friends.”

“You stand a friend with that fucking Gaul?” Agron spat. 

Nasir sighed. “Not really,” he admitted. “But I respect him, and your words will not change that. And Naevia is dear to me, and he is her heart, so for her sake…”

Agron buried his head once more in Nasir’s chest and grumbled assent. Nasir ran his hands through his barbarian’s hair. 

“Why can’t he show his gratitude some other way?” Agron mumbled. 

Nasir snorted. “Would you rather he sucked my cock?”

Agron growled and pushed Nasir to the floor, his boy laughing the entire time. 

Within a week, Nasir had two more bejewelled phallus amulets on his neck, placed there by Agron’s hand. 

When Naevia whispered to Crixus at the campfire and pointed this out, he laughed. Sitting across, Agron knew not what Crixus was laughing about, but he seethed nonetheless and pulled Nasir closer to him. 

—

While Nasir had proven an aptitude for battle, he still had much to learn. When Oenomaus was well enough to train them, Nasir found that he very much enjoyed the stern man’s tutelage, but also found himself falling behind other former house slaves who trained with the sword. 

Oenomaus tutted as Nasir thrust his arm forward, and once again found himself on the ground. “Crixus, see if you can help Nasir,” he said casually as he wound his whip around his fist. 

Nasir scowled as Crixus walked over to him. “You overreach,” the champion said as he helped Nasir to his feet. “Look at my heart. She does not try to overcompensate for her smallness. She uses it to her advantage.” 

Crixus gestured at where Saxa and Naevia were sparring with Donar and Nemetes. The women were indeed darting about the men and ducking beneath their blows, eventually tripping both men and sending them to the ground.

“I do not know how to not overreach,” Nasir admitted. “When my opponent is larger than me, how else am I to land a blow?”

Crixus looked at Oenomaus. “Doctore, I would train him with the spear.”

Oenomaus nodded. “Very well.” 

Nasir looked confused as Crixus gathered staffs from a barrel. “You would have me fight with a stick?”

“When you’re ready, you’ll have one with a blade,” Crixus said. “Hoplites can be effective, especially in small numbers. I’ll train you to fight as Barca did.”

“Who is Barca?”

Crixus took a number of staffs and leaned them against the temple wall. “Barca was a friend. I would not be the man I am if not for him. Barca had two lovers, one I barely came to know, and one who was always kind. I will not have you fall to the same fate as any of them.” He waved Nasir to stand by the staffs. “First we will size them.” 

“You’re going to give the smallest one, aren’t you?” Nasir grumbled. 

Crixus smiled wryly as he did, indeed, pick the smallest staff. “It should not be too much taller than its wielder. Your spear is part of your body, so it should be proportionate.”

For Agron’s sake, Nasir refrained from making a teasing inquiry about the proportionate size of Crixus’ cock. He’d grown quite bold and flirtatious since becoming free, he realized, but freedom has its costs, such as knowing when to restrain oneself.

Crixus showed Nasir some basic forms, and had the boy drill them, holding spear at chest height and driving forward. Soon, Nasir’s wrists were aching, and he winced as he wrung them.

“You cannot grip the staff too high,” Crixus said. “That’s what causes the pain. Let it fly from you. It will feel strange and off-balance, but you will learn.” Crixus stood behind Nasir and put his large arms around him. “Here.” Crixus gently held Nasir’s hands as he guided them up and down the staff, finding the appropriate spot.

It was at this time that Agron and Spartacus returned from hunting, and perhaps Crixus knew, or perhaps it was coincidence. In any case, Agron saw Crixus with his arms around his boy, and he saw Crixus move his boy’s hands up and down a large, hard staff. Crixus, perhaps knowing Agron was due to return, or perhaps just hearing it, turned to look at the newly arrived men. 

And then he winked. 

Agron saw red and wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. What he did know was that he was on top of Crixus, and they were rolling around in the sand, pummelling each other with fists, while Nasir was shouting “Agron, cease!”

Spartacus watched, his mouth pursed unhappily, as his men scrabbled. 

Nasir looked at Spartacus, and at his heart on the ground, and at his staff, and sighed. “Agron, please!” 

It was Oenomaus who finally got their attention, cracking his whip into the dirt, making all in courtyard flinch. Agron, Crixus, and all former gladiators of the House of Batiatus scrambled to stand up straight. 

“What is this?” Spartacus asked, aghast. 

“He attacked me absent provocation!” Crixus roared. 

“He had his hands on Nasir!”

“He was training me, Agron!”

Agron sputtered. “He had his hands on your hands, having you stroke that staff as if it were his cock!” Agron turned progressively redder as Nasir’s brow rose skeptically. “He… he winked at me!”

Spartacus and Nasir both looked deeply confused, while Oenomaus almost looked amused.

“Agron, you sound like a mad man!” Nasir said. 

Crixus laughed long and hard at this, doubling over and putting his hands on his knees. Agron shook with fury. 

“Spartacus, my apologies,” Nasir started. 

Spartacus waved him off. “You did nothing wrong. They were at this long before you joined us. Take your man, I’ll speak with Crixus.”

Agron was still trembling with unspent fury as Nasir took his arm and lead him into the temple to their bedroll. “You must stop this,” the boy hissed.

“ _You_ must stop letting filthy fucking Gauls put their hands on you!” Agron snapped. 

“He was _training_ me!”

“Why must it be him? Why can’t Lugo train you?”

“I can’t understand half the words Lugo says,” Nasir scowled. “Agron, I’m very angry with you. You humiliated me in front of Spartacus!” 

The fury all but drained from Agron. “That was not… I didn’t mean… augh!” He grunted his frustration and kicked a wall. 

Nasir sighed. “You must cease. You did not see Spartacus’ face. How can he trust the two of you to help lead a rebellion when you squabble like children?” 

“He _did_ wink at me, Nasir. I can handle him training you, I can handle him… I can _tolerate_ him putting hands on you in training if it means you will be safe in battle. But he _knew_ it would provoke me!” 

Nasir sighed and set a hand on Agron’s arm. “I know not what you saw, Agron, but if he’s doing that, you simply have to calm yourself. All anybody else saw was you blindly attacking a brother. You must be the bigger man.”

Agron growled as he seized Nasir about the waist. “I will show you how big a man I am!” he roared as he pushed Nasir to the bedroll. 

Nasir laughed as Agron made short work of his clothing. “You’re fortunate that I find this barbarian animal thing so attractive, Agron.” 

— 

They were living in a large camp now, and their numbers swelled. Children and dogs ran underfoot, different languages surged around them, and new talents and fortunes were discovered every day.

With every new fortune he came into, Crixus found a way to gift small part of it to Nasir: a warm, well-made cloak; soft leather boots; an amphora of fine wine all for himself— “If you wish to share it with your barbarian of a man, that’s your choice.”

With every gift, Agron would attempt to swallow his rage (he was getting better at doing so, but was not always successful) and find a way to put Crixus out of his little man’s thoughts. Often this was accomplished by way of skilled mouth, hands, and cock, but Agron was also on the lookout for jewels, silks, hair ribbons, cloaks, boots, and wine. 

Unfortunately there was one thing Agron simply could not give Nasir, because he could not be in possession of it. That was the training of a new skill.

One fortuitous day, the rebels found themselves in possession of a band of twenty horses. 

They had come across horses before, but usually only one or two after a battle, or one or two hitched to a cart. The cart horses continued to pull cart; sometimes Spartacus or another so skilled would ride a war horse, but often the war horses ran away, going on instinct back to their homes, and they were not worth chasing. (Agron suspected some of these horses may have actually been slaughtered, and said to run away, but as food was so scarce, he wasn’t going to disillusion Spartacus’ belief that the horses had run and all his followers were perfect and noble.) 

This band of twenty horses, this band of twenty trained war horses ready for battle complete with armour, this absolute gift from the gods, came to them along with five camp slaves. Slaves had stolen horses from Cossinius and run away to join the rebels, bringing the horses to show their worth to the cause. The five camp slaves _on their own_ would have been a gift, because they also brought knowledge of Cossinius’ men, movements, and weaknesses. The horses were as if a special blessing from Mars himself. 

And Agron did not know how to ride. 

Few of them could ride, truthfully. Luckily there were some among them, including the five newcomers, who held knowledge in the care and training of horses, but few could actually ride. Most of the slaves who had known freedom were yet too young to ride when they were taken by the Romans. 

Spartacus, and a few other gladiators who had been soldiers in their previous lives, took a day to reacquaint themselves with horses, then started teaching the ones who had ridden as children, to assess their abilities. 

It was a surprise to all when Crixus was almost immediately proficient on a horse, except to Spartacus.

“One does not forget how to ride a horse,” he said. “Crixus, I would have you start teaching our warriors the basics. From there we will determine who has talent for it, and decide what to do with these new beasts of ours.” Spartacus was smiling, no doubt the potential of countless missions dancing in his mind, as he turned to assess other new riders.

Nasir was also smiling, shyly reaching out and petting Crixus’ horse gently. “They are so beautiful!” Agron’s heart said.

But Agron was not smiling. If he was absent proof that the gods had turned from him yet, he had it now. While Crixus had been stolen by Rome as a child, his tribe taught riding from the time they could walk. East of the Rhine, Agron’s people had horses generally, but Agron’s village in particular were all goat herders and shepherds. 

Agron had never ridden an animal in his life, unless one counted his wild little dog, which one had better not do within Agron’s hearing. This meant that whoever was to teach Nasir to ride, and sit behind him as he bounced and bucked upon the beast, would not be Agron. If the gods had not totally forsaken him, it would at least not be—

“Nasir,” Crixus called out in his scratchy, infuriating voice. “Your people ride horses, do they not?”

“I have no idea,” Nasir said, still petting the horse, but he was smiling.

“Come,” Crixus said. “You are not afraid of the beast, so that’s a start. Though with Agron I think you are accustomed to beasts.” Crixus held out his hand. 

Agron was scowling hard, which did not surprise Nasir at all. “Are you going to behave yourself while I do this?” Nasir asked. “You know I wish only for you to teach me how to ride anything, but that isn’t possible right now.”

Agron only grunted, but Nasir figured that was better than leaping at the horse in vain attempt to wrestle Crixus to the ground. The little man smiled and kissed Agron’s cheek. 

Crixus helped Nasir get up into the saddle, and Agron struggled to not lose control of his breath. There was nothing he could do. Spartacus wanted them to learn how to ride, and Crixus could teach. His jealousy about Crixus had made Nasir angry at him in the past, and he wished to make Nasir nothing but happy. So he would not react. 

He did not react when Nasir spread his legs wide to accommodate the beast and wiggled around experimentally. He did not react when Crixus swung up onto the horse behind him, grinning evilly at Agron. He did not react when Crixus lightly put his arms around Nasir to guide his boy’s hands to the reins. 

He did not react, but he almost burst into flames. 

Crixus softly gave Nasir instruction on how to handle the reins, when and where to pull, what to do with his legs. Nasir took to it quick, as the clever boy took to everything, and soon the horse was trotting about lightly. Nasir was smiling, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair fluttered in the breeze. He looked beautiful— except for the fucking Gaul sitting behind him with a shit-eating grin on his ugly face.

“You must move with the horse,” Crixus instructed. “Do not resist being pitched forward and back.”

Dutifully, Nasir followed instruction, and bounced lightly, looking to all the world as if he bounced upon Crixus’ lap. The horse trotted happily.

“Your people must ride horses,” Crixus said. “You take to it naturally.”

“It’s fun!” Nasir laughed. 

Agron clenched his jaw so hard he almost broke a tooth. 

Spartacus returned from assessing other riders, leading another horse. He saw Agron’s face. “Crixus will not let harm come to pass,” he said, completely misunderstanding the problem.

“I know he won’t,” Agron spat. He would know how to handle that— with Crixus’ hot blood. This was worse, by a large margin. “Could he not teach Naevia?”

“Naevia is yet frightened of the beasts. Perhaps she will choose to learn, in time, but I will not force an act upon any who does not wish it. And we only have a small amount of horses anyway, not all need to ride. Come,” he slapped Agron’s shoulder. “I _would_ have each of my generals at least try it. Commanding great numbers is easier on horseback.”

Spartacus helped Agron get on top of the horse, and it was a graceless, embarrassing affair. Finally Agron was seated, with Spartacus behind him. The horse huffed and whinnied. Hooves danced uneasily across the grass.

“You are nervous,” Spartacus chided, reaching across to guide Agron’s hands to the reins. “The horse can tell. You need to calm yourself or she will be nervous as well.”

Agron grunted. 

“Are you scared of falling? You’ve leapt from greater heights, and I will show you how to protect yourself in a fall,” Spartacus said. 

“I am not scared of falling,” Agron mumbled. His eyes were still on Nasir and Crixus, as their horse was trotting faster, making riders bounce and move together. Nasir was laughing, his hair streaming in the wind. Agron heard Crixus laugh, too. 

Agron’s mount huffed and tossed her head. 

“You’re tense as a Roman taking a shit. And you’re gripping the reins far too tightly,” Spartacus scolded, batting at Agron’s hands. “You’re giving her too many signals. Digging your heels in makes her run, and pulling on the reins makes her stop; you can’t do both.”

Agron breathed and tried to relax. The horse was several times larger than him. He knew that the beast taking on his fury was dangerous, but also, the idea of the beast taking out his fury _on Crixus_ was amusing. Nasir could hardly be angry at him for that, could he?

“Look, Agron!” Nasir laughed happily. They trotted by, Nasir expertly commanding the beast. 

“Nasir takes well to the horse,” Crixus said proudly. “He was born to be mounted.” 

Agron’s fury rose so fast that he missed Nasir digging his elbow hard into Crixus’ gut. He didn’t hear Nasir hiss, “Crixus, cease!” 

Instead, Agron did the very thing Spartacus warned him against. In his pre-berserker fury he tensed greatly, pulling hard on the reins and digging his heels in. The horse squealed, startled, and shook the pestering humans off her back. Agron and Spartacus tumbled to the ground as the horse took her leave.

“Agron!” Nasir shouted. He flailed trying to dismount until Crixus showed him how, while one of Cossinius’ ex-slaves rushed over to Spartacus.

“Are you well? Did you hit your head?” She asked worriedly as she helped Spartacus stand. Another of Cossinius’ ex-slaves rode after the runaway mare atop his own horse, calling her name. 

Spartacus laughed, even as he checked his head with his hands. “I’ve had worse falls from horses. But I wager our backs will be sore for many days.”

Agron cautiously got to his feet, aided by Nasir. Spartacus was right. He felt a dull ache all over that he knew would be worse on the morrow, but no other injuries. 

“Are you hurt?” Nasir asked. 

“Only my pride,” Agron muttered. 

Crixus laughed at this, bruising Agron’s pride more. “It is no surprise that the pup can’t command the beast beneath him,” he said. 

Agron bared his teeth, but Spartacus groaned. “Crixus, enough. Agron, go rest. Nasir—”

“I would go with him,” Nasir said. 

“I would have you continue to ride,” Spartacus frowned. “You showed great promise.” 

Nasir bit his lip a moment. “Surely there are better riders among us. But gratitude, for the opportunity to prove myself, and gratitude, Crixus, for instruction.”

Agron avoided all their gazes as he limped back to their tent, Nasir under his arm.

“What happened?” Nasir fretted as he pushed open the tent flaps.

“I am not made for horses,” Agron said, truthfully, but evading the real question. 

Nasir made a soothing noise as he bade Agron to sit and started rubbing his back. “Well, we do not have to be horse soldiers. There are fewer horses than potential riders, anyway.” 

Agron turned to look at him. “But you were so talented at it.” 

Nasir kissed him. “I do not wish to battle without you by my side,” he said. 

That night, despite how sore his back was, Agron laid down and bounced Nasir upon his cock so hard the little man passed out. 

Agron was worried as he gently laid his heart down and patted his cheeks. “Are you well? Did I hurt you?”

Nasir’s lashes fluttered, and he laughed breathlessly as he returned to life. “You did not hurt me,” he mumbled. “That was… Agron, that was…” He put trembling hand upon Agron’s chest, which blossomed with pride. 

Agron could not walk for three days. 

“Did you do something to aggravate it?” Spartacus, who could walk, but gingerly, put his head into Agron’s tent to check on him. “I had a harder fall than you did.”

Agron tried to look innocent. Luckily Nasir was out training, as the little man would surely be laughing. “I know not why mine is worse. You know I would not pretend.”

“I know,” Spartacus said. “I suppose you really aren’t made for horses.”

—

When they set up their camp in the south and their numbers started swelling, many slaves joined their cause. In the early days, they liberated villas to find Naevia, and then the ships to gain soldiers. Even with the ships, the fighters among them were always a minority. When their resources were enough that they could plan missions in cities, they focused on the gladiator schools. 

They would only strike villas or vineyards when necessary. Spartacus longed to free every single slave, but the requirements of feeding his people made that nothing more than a dream. Villas and vineyards were decided upon based on their resources. Liberating the mine was strategic, because of its location, and because of the blow to the Roman economy— the rebels’ resources couldn’t handle any more non-fighting men after that, but at least some of the miners could fight.

While Spartacus may have dreamed of seeing every slave freed, they never made plans to liberate publishing houses, or brothels, or any other number of places where slavery took on a different mask. It was simply not feasible. 

But as their numbers swelled, so did their legend, until all the slaves in the republic knew of them, and dreamed of them in return. Gannicus in particular was surprised when ragged groups arrived at their camp, bringing varied skills. A handful of scribes owned by a publishing house that had simply gone on an “errand” and walked away from their town, somehow surviving the wilds until they arrived threadbare and starving, bringing with them the ability to forge letters from almost every Roman general, paper and ink with which to forge, and a large collection of maps. A group of ragged farm workers, some of which weren’t even slaves, but had little freedom in their lives, who had plied their overseer with wine and ran out in the night, bringing seeds, chickens, and knowledge of how to till the land near the camp and coax life from the dirt.

One of the first groups of slaves that had come to join them were, in fact, a troupe of travelling actors. Agron had never seen a play, but wasn’t surprised to learn that most actors in the republic were slaves, forced to perform rather like gladiators were, given the false dream of “winning freedom” from a particularly memorable performance. This troupe were not due back in their home city for a month, and the six of them had apparently spent many weeks planning before they killed the Roman guard their Dominus had sent out with them as minder, and escaped to join Spartacus.

Like the scribes, the actors were more or less educated, which Spartacus said he found helpful, but Agron didn’t see why. Nasir liked them, which was all that mattered. Mostly, they were not decent fighters but they became very good scouts and spies, and Spartacus always sent one or more of them when a group needed to visit one of the towns or blend in, and let them do the talking.

After the first group of actors joined them, three more came in fast succession. Then the actors stopped coming entirely— the theatres stopped sending out travelling troupes. But occasionally they were joined by other groups. Sometimes a new band of gladiators would arrive, having escaped their own _ludus_. A clutch of galley slaves off a ship docked in Neapolis. On a number of occasions, the staff of a brothel. 

Whores were always welcomed by the fighting men, as they would be in any military camp. When groups of whores arrived, they were always in the same combination— ten or so women, one or two boys. This seemed to always be the number that would survive when the whores banded together to free themselves, who survived escaping their town and braving the wilds. They were always very tight-knit groups who looked after each other and caused little trouble. They were happy to ply their bodies in exchange for a place in the camp, as long as they were the ones to receive the payment of food and position, and not some Dominus growing fat off their work; as long as no one laid hand on them that were not given permission or invitation. The rebels in turn were happy to watch over them and guard each other’s behaviour, though Agron found the lesson of respect one he often had to repeat, his fists beating it into some ex-gladiator’s head.

Some of the ex-whores found talents in other areas— as healers, or seamstresses, or in minding the camp’s growing number of children, and Spartacus was always happy to see this. Some of them became very skilled fighters, and Agron, Crixus, and Gannicus were happier still to see that. 

One strange day, a group of almost twenty boys, and only boys, arrived at their camp. It was a sight to see the pack of semi-feral, slender, delicate boys stream into camp, wide-eyed and frightened, and later, fawning over Spartacus, batting their lashes and blushing. Their brothel had only held boys, and when they were calm enough to tell tale, they said about fifty of them had attempted escape together. They had used wine and poison, procured over a long time and at great risk, to incapacitate their Dominus, his customers, and the guards, but only thirty of them escaped the city, and only eighteen reached the camp. 

Spartacus was preening when he gave command that the boys should be trained, and Agron and Nasir would take charge of them. “You would have once called them worthless,” he told Agron. “But they rebelled and escaped, and survived in numbers similar to the those of us from the House of Batiatus.”

Crixus snorted. “Worthless indeed,” he said. “Those tiny, delicate things do not have the stuff of fighters. But let the pup play with his toys.”

Agron grumbled briefly, but then shared a smile with Spartacus. He was different than he was before, and now he could be proud of these boys, as he was proud of his own. 

Of the boys that reached them, about twelve were deemed by Spartacus to be fit fighters. The rest were happy to find their talents elsewhere, and the twelve that Agron took charge of were collectively known as the “delicate boys,” with affection, but a little skepticism that they might make good soldiers. 

Agron and Nasir gathered the twelve boys in a field to assess them. Nasir gave them wooden swords, and they showed the boys the first basic gladiator form, as taught to them by Oenomaus. They paired the boys off and had them spar together. 

Nasir scowled as the boys giggled their way through the form, half-heartedly batting at each other with their swords, glancing over to see if Agron was looking. “They do not take it seriously,” he whispered to Agron. 

Agron shrugged. “They survived escape and made their way here. They are simply having fun.”

Nasir shook his head. “I am glad they are free to seek fun, but learning a weapon is important. How will we train them if they do not take it seriously?”

“We will train them as we were trained,” Agron said, but he was still smiling down at the lithe boys, who smiled back and whispered to each other laughingly.

“When I was trained, I was knocked on my ass and berated more often than not,” Nasir grumbled. 

Indeed, it became obvious to Nasir that the delicate boys were not being trained with the rigour he had been. When Agron corrected a boy’s form, his hands were gentle as he guided untrained arms up.

“Like this?” The boy Castor asked, smiling widely and batting his lashes, as he raised his arms and leaned back into Agron’s chest. 

“Yes, very good,” Agron said. He stepped forward and raised his own practice sword. “Again,” he commanded, and didn’t stifle his laugh when Castor surged forward. He blocked the blows easily and pushed the boy back gently. “You’re improving!” he said, and was rewarded with a sunny smile. 

Nasir scowled as he sparred with another boy, Teos. When he saw Agron laughing, he stilled in his attack. 

Teos stilled as well. “Your man is of a form,” he said in a teasing voice.

Nasir hissed suddenly, and struck Teos with the flat end of his wooden sword. He knocked the boy on the ground and continued striking. 

“Cease! Please!” The boy cried out, and Agron was at his side instantly. 

“Nasir, what—” Agron roared, but was cut short.

“You were distracted!” Nasir snapped at the boy. He raised Teos’ face with his sword at his chin. The boy was crying, a number of red welts already rising on his chest and arms from Nasir’s attack. “If I stood Roman you would be dead. There is no room for distraction. This is not a _game_.”

“Nasir,” Agron chided. “They are only learning.”

“This is how I learned!” Nasir snapped. He stormed back. “Get up, Teos. Attack me again.”

Teos stood, but wrapped skinny arms around himself. “Must I?” he asked Agron, eyes wet and shining. 

Agron squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “No. Go rest.” 

Nasir sputtered. He and Agron stared at each for a moment, then Nasir hurled the wooden sword to the ground with a hiss and stormed off. 

Agron was at a loss. He had never seen his little man, who was usually so full of compassion and gentleness for new recruits, behave this way. “All right,” he tried to get the lesson back on track as the boys gathered around him, looking up at him with confusion and admiration. “Let’s get back to work.”

He had the boys pair off again and run through the forms, but thoughts were elsewhere. Finally he dismissed them. 

“Gratitude, Agron,” Teos said, running a hand down Agron’s arm. Castor smiled up at him too, touching him lightly, and the other boys all smiled and giggled at him. Agron smiled back and watched fondly as the boys bundled themselves off, whispering to each other. 

Then he noticed Crixus watching him. He scowled. 

“I would have words,” Crixus said. 

“Break them, then, or remove self from sight,” Agron snapped. 

Crixus rolled his eyes. “I do not say these words for your sake. I care not if you die alone and heartbroken. But Nasir is the only reason my heart yet beats, and he is dear to her. And to me.”

“Get his name out of your filthy mouth you fucking Gaul!” Agron advanced on Crixus with his fists raised. 

“You are hurting him,” Crixus said.

Agron stopped short. “Of what do you speak?”

“These boys. You flirt with them.”

“I do not. I was training them!”

“ _Nasir_ was training them, _you_ were coddling them. You favour them, and fail to notice you have slighted your own boy.”

Agron scoffed. “You speak nonsense. I have trained countless men. Just as you have trained many women!”

“Yes,” Crixus shrugged. “But you’ll notice I do not associate with whores.”

Agron felt his blood run hot. “You now object to whores? They were slaves the same as we were, Crixus, and they deserve to fight for their freedom as well.”

“Yes, yes, a speech I’ve heard from Spartacus a thousand times,” Crixus said impatiently. “I do not hold issue with whores, nor object to them being amongst us. But for Naevia’s sake, I do not break words with them. I can break words with other women, but not ones who ply sex for a living. I do not hold disrespect for them, but I do hold respect for my heart, so when the whores try to flirt with me, I ignore them.” 

Agron snorted through his nose. “I was simply training them! You may be unable to control yourself around whores, but you still train women, and I am _not_ casting looks on these boys!”

“You are,” Crixus spat. “When I train the women, I do not train the whores, _or_ the ones who would seek to take Naevia’s place. Naevia and Saxa handle the rest. There are countless men to be trained. Turn your sights to the ugly among them, and the ones who are not used to repaying kindness with their _holes_.”

Agron grit his teeth. “Spartacus commanded Nasir and I take charge of them.”

“He’s done many foolish things, this is but one,” Crixus grumbled. “Perhaps he thought the two of you together would be good for the boys. But instead he has made Nasir watch his man flirt with a bunch of whores.”

“I am training them so they do not have to be whores!” 

“But they _were_ whores, and a slave does not cast off the shackles of slavery in their mind even if they have escaped, something we have seen countless times!” Crixus snarled. “And they are yet young, and lustful, and at least a few of them favour your form, and if you do not see the way they moon over you, then you are not fit to train _or_ command.” 

“You cast doubt on my ability to command?” Agron was aghast. “Of course I have noticed the way they look at me, I’d have to be a fool not to.”

“So you enjoy it, then?” Crixus sneered. 

“I said no such thing! They are just stupid boys. It will pass.”

“Agron, Nasir is jealous.”

Agron choked. “Jealous! Nasir turns the head of every man in camp!” 

“But he does not indulge them. He does not encourage their fawning. He chooses you, and that is the end of it. You turn the heads of a whole troupe of boys, and you revel in their attention. You flirt with them!” 

Agron shook his head, trembling with anger, but it was diffuse, a general anger that he couldn’t say was directed at Crixus. “You trained Nasir, _and_ you gave him gifts!”

“I did those things because he saved Naevia!” Crixus shouted. “He is a decent soldier, but I would not give him a glance if not for her sake. What do you owe these boys? Affection and smiles that should belong to Nasir?”

Agron sputtered wordlessly. He paced around on the dirt, kicking at nothing. Crixus was right, and Agron absolutely hated it. 

“You are hurting him,” Crixus continued. “You growl and attack any man who might look his way, with no regard to his choice, then you go and dote on these boys.” 

Agron clenched his fists and his teeth and breathed shakily. “You would have me defy Spartacus’ orders?” He finally grit out, because everything else he could think of to say was too embarrassing.

Crixus ran a hand over his head. “Naevia would have you speak with your boy and stop flirting with others. Since you are too stupid to do that…” he sighed. “I could take command of them, with Nasir.”

“You would? You called them worthless.”

Crixus shrugged. “As you once called Nasir. And now I will see them as warriors. I will break words with Spartacus and explain. Go to your boy.”

Agron stumbled on words. “I… gr—”

Crixus was an inch from his face before he could finish. “I do not do this for _you_ ,” he grumbled. “Fuck a whole legion of boy whores for all I care. But if you continue to hurt Nasir now, knowing this— or if you hurt him again _at all_ , I will tear out your guts on his behalf.”

Agron scowled and took himself off to find Nasir. His heart was in their tent, angrily sharpening the blade of his spear. He glowered as Agron appeared through the tent flaps. 

They stood in silence for quite a while. Finally, Agron broke trembling words. “Nasir, I would never choose another. I did not realize I was flirting with the boys. I see now how…”

Agron stared at his feet. He felt all of six years old, standing with Duro cowering behind him, admitting his crimes to wrathful mother. 

Nasir looked at him, his face softening, and said nothing. 

“I am rarely given attention from… from boys,” Agron stumbled on his words. “I know not what drew you to me. I see now that it was foolish of me to _not_ know they were flirting, but I truly didn’t intend… I am sorry, Nasir.”

Nasir seemed to think for a bit, then smiled sadly. “Gratitude for breaking words,” he said. “I know that was difficult for you." He gestured for Agron to sit with him. 

Agron did, and Nasir went back to sharpening his spear. “I am sorry, too,” he said eventually, to Agron’s surprise. “I do not truly believe that you would choose another. Or that you would knowingly flirt with them in front of me. And I did not mean to take it out on the boys. They deserve a chance like any other. I really only meant to train them the way Spartacus did me.” He was quiet for a moment, putting his spear down. “Truthfully, they remind me of myself. I could have been any one of them. If someone else had bought me off the block…”

Agron put an arm around Nasir and held his little man close. The simmering rage that was always in his belly rose again when he thought of Nasir at the hands of the Romans. 

“And if I was one of them…” Nasir continued quietly. “Without the position I had as body slave… to be standing there, newly free, with a man of your form…” He huffed sadly and rested his head on Agron’s should. “I would have been flirting. I would have been like Chadara, trying to find a man to save me. If that was all I knew.” 

Agron stroked Nasir’s head. 

“I want to help them,” Nasir said. “But I just… I can’t do that if you’re there.” 

Agron squeezed him. “Crixus has offered to take my place.”

“Crixus? Is he why you came to me to apologize?”

Agron seethed. “Yes,” he grunted. 

Nasir laughed. “I knew it had to have been something remarkable.” He leaned up and kissed Agron’s cheek. “You have swallowed your pride for me, so… I will not train them either, if you do not want me with Crixus.”

Agron really did not want Nasir to train the boys with Crixus, but he sighed and buried his face in Nasir’s hair. “You wish to help them. I will not stand in your way. You would be a good teacher for them.” 

Nasir smiled sadly up at him. “Maybe once I’ve got a chance to know them… I think we could be friends. Then it would not worry me so to have them around you. I would not wish to deprive them of your company.” He smiled gently, and Agron pressed a kiss to his lips. 

“I would never see any of them again, if you wish it,” he promised. Nasir sighed with relief.

That night they did not make love, for Nasir sometimes got quiet and rueful when spectres of his past came up, such as knowledge that his fate could have been the same as the delicate boys’. He rested in Agron’s arms instead, breathing against his man’s chest, running his fingers up and down Agron’s bicep until he fell asleep. Agron stroked his hair, and cherished him.

—

Weeks later, Crixus and Nasir went off on a raid with half a dozen others. Agron tried not to fret while they were gone, as he set to work on the endless other tasks that constantly needed to be done in camp, but it was always difficult to keep mind on task when his heart was away. Spartacus usually sent Nasir and Agron to fight together, as they fought so fiercely for the other, but this raid required patience and stealth, neither of which were traits Agron had. This mission was not meant to see fighting. They went with two of the actor-spies and were simply gathering information. Agron would just get in the way, especially if Nasir looked to be in danger.

But some missions did not go as planned, and while this party was not meant to see fighting, Crixus and Nasir were the only ones to return alive.

Agron rushed to the crowd that was gathering to meet them. He saw Crixus with his arm around Nasir’s shoulders, and blood rushed to his ears. Heedless of Spartacus, who was speaking above him, Agron rushed to Nasir and made move to shove Crixus off him.

“Agron, he saved my life,” Nasir said breathlessly, and just like that, Agron’s fury was gone. He saw now that Crixus bled from large wound in his gut, that he leaned on Nasir for support. 

Agron bent to take Crixus’ weight from his heart. He heard Naevia screaming Crixus’ name as she rushed towards him, and let Nasir soothe her as he followed Spartacus back to camp.

That night Agron lay awake, clutching Nasir close. He had the story from Nasir’s lips three times, until Nasir protested that he was too tired. They were caught out by Roman guards, their numbers were not estimated correctly, and the others fell. In battle, Crixus had pushed Nasir away from a blade the boy had not seen, and been run through. The Roman in question was in the afterlife now, but he had nearly taken Nasir with him, and the thought was enough to make Agron tremble.

Losing Duro had been a sting unlike any Agron had ever felt. He did not believe he could survive it again.

A few days later, when Crixus was awake, Agron went to see him in his tent. Naevia gave him a gentle smile and a soft hug as she left, and Agron ducked inside, kneeling by Crixus’ bed. 

Crixus sneered up at him. They were quiet for a long time. 

Finally, Agron sighed. “If not for you, Nasir would not yet live,” he said. “Gratitude.”

Crixus grunted. “Any who stands against Rome is my brother,” he said. “But Nasir is more. He is as if brother of my heart. I will always protect him, when I am able.” 

Agron nodded. “I suppose… you are to me, now, what he is to you.” He stood, and shook words out. “My sword is yours, and my loyalty. I do not wish to go against Spartacus, but if it came to it… I will always be at your side.”

They were quiet for a moment again. Eventually, Crixus nodded his acceptance. Agron turned to go. He turned back with a scowl. “But do not fucking expect me to give you gifts or kind words!”

Crixus laughed weakly. “I would truly rather you did not.” 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr!](http://vivarocksteady.tumblr.com/)


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